Page 44 of Mated By the Pack
We leave the locker room, and my claws threaten to punch through my skin. My vision tunnels. The need is a noose tightening around my fucking neck. Gideon won’t stop me. I’ll play this game and pretend, but Calla will be mine tonight. I’m going to rut her. Claim her. Mark her as mine. And I won’t be gentle.
Calla is like a beacon when we step into the main part of the lower level. Gorgeous blue eyes that radiate with curiosity, hesitation, and something else. Pretty blonde hair that is wild from her time in The Tangle. Just how it should be. I can still smell her arousal. It seems to thicken the air when the three of us approach.
The girls take a step back. The runt of the litter, as Vance calls her, huddles behind our mate. The older one—similar to Calla’s age—shoves another behind her. The last clutches a stick. There’s something different about her. A dark intention in her stare. Vance said she took three lives at The Outpost without blinking. That’s rather impressive for a girl raised in the safety of Haven North.
“Introduce us to your friends, Calla,” Gideon says calmly, but I can detect an edge in his tone. The need he can’t quite stifle, no matter how hard he tries. “I’m sure you’re hungry. Vance, why don’t you make some food for our guests?”
“Hope you like meat,” Vance chuckles, motioning toward the kitchen. “The fridge and freezer are on a back-up generator, so everything is fresh. This level was somewhat protected from the solar flare, and we’ve made some repairs. Not sure if the stove still works…” His voice trails off.
“We’re so hungry we’ll eat almost anything,” Calla says, then she turns to her friends, introducing them one by one.
Each girl nods when their name is called. They’re scared. That’s obvious. If the air wasn’t so thick with Calla’s scent, I could probably smell their fear. I don’t care enough to put their minds at ease. The only thing I want is what is mine.
Vance walks into the kitchen. I’m not interested in socializing, so I follow him. I never liked it when it was necessary for us to mingle with others. When we had to prove to the politicians and the billionaires funding the genetic research that we were worth tearing apart ethical obligations and emptying bank accounts.
“What do you think they would like best?” Vance asks, opening the fridge and peering inside. “Gen-Hen? Maybe some meat from one of the bigger hybrids? Boar? Bear?”
I lean against the wall and fold my arms across my chest. “As long as you’re not feeding them human meat, I don’t think they’ll care,” I grunt. “The humans we helped before they ran us off always liked Gen-Hen.”
“Gen-Hen it is then,” Vance says cheerfully, removing an ample supply from the fridge.
Fresh meat has been my preference since the first time we shifted and lost the taste for almost everything else. But finding it can be a challenge at times. Winters are harsh in The Tangle. A lot of hybrids hibernate. Most of the animals that flourished in nature before the heat storms have been hunted to extinction or mutated into sour beasts.
If we hadn’t gotten the generators to work in this bunker, we would have spent a lot of winters on the edge of starvation. It isn’t enough to kill us, but there’s only so much we can take before we go feral. Give in to the call of the wild permanently and lose every bit of humanity we have left.
“Ah, the stove still works!” Vance says as it lights up. “Now, if I can just remember how to cook…”
I grunt with frustration. Vance was never the cook, even before we shifted and no longer needed to worry about it. That was my job. “Get out of the way,” I mutter. “You can’t just throw the chicken in the pan. You need something to fry it with. Grab me a fatty strip of Gen-Boar and see what seasonings are in the cabinet. I need salt and pepper at a minimum. Some garlic would be good, too.”
Sometimes I’m still amazed by what is usable after two hundred years. The solar flare wiped out every bit of technology that wasn’t buried in bunkers like this. The heat storms brought droughts. The Tangle flourished, growing despite the dry decay all around it. I’m not even sure how far it stretches. For all we know, it could have covered most of the globe by now. Overrun everything that isn’t huddled behind steel.
“Salt still seems fine,” Vance says. “Pepper is stale. I wouldn’t put this garlic on anything.”
“Yeah, ground pepper is useless,” I growl, leaning to look over his shoulder. “Grab the peppercorns. I’ll grind a few of them and see if they’ll add some flavor.”
“Chef Jace is still there somewhere, huh?” Vance chuckles, grabbing the spices and putting them on the counter.
“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter.
I stir the Gen-Boar fat in the pan until it melts, then carefully place the Gen-Hen meat in the sizzling grease. Vance hums quietly while I prepare the food. The scent of cooked food starts to fill the bunker—rich, earthy, and familiar, but I don’t have a craving for it. The only thing I crave is her.
“Too bad we don’t have any flour or eggs,” Vance says. “Battered chicken was always better. Remember that place we used to love on the base? Popeye’s? They had the best biscuits…”
“Two hundred years of fresh kills and you’re still talking about fucking biscuits?” I can’t help but chuckle. “I can’t wait until you catch her scent. Maybe you’ll start acting normal for a change. Did you try talking to the garlic powder? Maybe it’ll spit out a few cloves if you ask nicely.”
“If you cared to listen, you might hear The Tangle whispering back sometimes,” Vance says. “And I told you what I saw when Calla put her hand near the lock. Her bracelet did that. The Tangle is more than angry plants and vines we can turn into medicine.”
“Right, sometimes the trees throw fucking grenades at you,” I mumble absently. “Grab some plates. It’s almost done.”
I prepare meals for our guests. Gen-Hen, seasoned as well as it can be, and seared to perfection. No sides, but there’s plenty ofmeat, even if they’re starving. I bring the plates into the dining area. Vance brings glasses of water from our reserves. Gideon already has the girls seated. I put plates in front of the others first, lingering behind Calla and savoring the heat radiating from her before leaning down.
“Soon,” I murmur into her ear. “Soon you will be mine.”
The other girls flash nervous glances toward Calla, but they don’t hear my words. Those are only for the one who’s mine. She’s the only one who matters.
“This smells so good I might have to fix a plate myself,” Gideon remarks, walking into the kitchen.
What the fuck is he doing? Showing off? Trying to make it look like he’s got more humanity inside him than beast? He’s got the same need coursing through his blood that I do, and some seasoned food isn’t going to scratch the itch that aches into our bones.
